s, and made thereby
inhabitable.

"And of course," said Michael, "you've got to buy lots and lots of
clothes this fortnight. How much do you want to spend? Two
hundred--three hundred pounds?"

The idea of buying clothes on such a scale of extravagance seemed to
delight her, and she kissed him, he thought almost for the first time,
in mere affection without a trace of passion. Michael felt happy that he
had so much money for her to spend, and he was glad that no one had been
given authority to interfere with his capital. There flashed through his
mind a comparison of himself with the Chevalier des Grieux, and,
remembering how soon that money had come to an end, he was glad that
Lily would not be exposed to the temptation which had ruined Manon.

"And do you like Miss Harper?" he inquired.

"Yes, she seems all right."

They went out to dine in town, and came back about eleven to find the
flat looking wonderfully settled. Michael confessed how much he had
forgotten to order, but Lily talked of her dresses and took no interest
in household affairs.

"I think I ought to go now," said Michael.

"Oh, no, stay a little longer."

But he would not, feeling the violent necessity to impress upon her as
much as possible, during this fortnight before they were married, how
important were the conventions of life, even when it was going to be
lived in so strange a place as Ararat House.

"Oh, you're going now?" said Miss Harper, looking at him rather
curiously.

"I shall be round in the morning. You'll finish making the lists of what
you still want?"

Michael felt very deeply plunged into domestic arrangements, as he drove
to Grosvenor Road.

Maurice was sitting up for him, but Castleton had gone to bed.

"Look here, old chap," Maurice began at once, "you can't possibly marry
that girl."

Michael frowned.

"You too?"

"I know all about her," Maurice went on. "I've never actually met her,
but I recognized her at once. Even if you did know her people five years
ago, you ought to have taken care to find out what had happened in
between. As a matter of fact, I happen to know a man who's had an affair
with her--a painter called Walker. Ronnie Walker. He's often up here.
You're bound to meet him some time."

"Not at all, if I never come here again," said Michael, in a cold rage.

"It's no use for you to be angry with me," said Maurice. "I should be a
rotten friend, if I didn't warn you."

"Oh, go to hell!" said Mic